


call me anything you want

by yutayummy



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Blowjobs, Canon Divergence, Coming In Pants, Crossdressing, Deepthroating, Feelings Realization, M/M, Overuse of the word pretty, Semi-Public Sex, TenAlice, friends to fuckers, gagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:55:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27533353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yutayummy/pseuds/yutayummy
Summary: “Do you like the dress?”His knees dip in a little curtsy, long nails pinched around the hem of his dress to hold it up. Without really thinking about it, Johnny catches the hem when Ten stands back up, rubbing the blue fabric of the dress and the white fabric of the underskirt together between his thumb and forefinger.“Yeah, I do.”
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 24
Kudos: 315





	call me anything you want

**Author's Note:**

> I had to.
> 
> alternative titles for this wip were ‘pretty things to see’ and ‘your knee socks’ — I’ll make use of them yet.
> 
> sidenote: for the sake of the fic, ten’s headband is an actual ribbon.

Johnny is sprawled on the floor of one of the practice rooms, worn out and sweaty from three reruns of the same choreography, and he's _just_ about to chug down an entire bottle of water when he receives the images:

Ten, posing in a blonde wig adorned with a blue ribbon, the top half of an Alice in Wonderland costume just in frame. He looks characteristically pretty, which comes at absolutely no surprise to Johnny. No, the surprise is all down to the _way_ he's posing, wide-eyed with a meek little smile that's far too coy for a character so innocent. 

Johnny's glad he didn't chug that water. 

He turns to the others, waving his phone in the air. "They're about to film the princess thing Sicheng mentioned," he exclaims, and Donghyuck all but clamours to come see. His eyes flicker across the picture of Ten and he positively chortles.

"Why does he look _good_?" 

In the back, Taeyong tilts his head to bypass Donghyuck's obscuration of the phone and chuckles to himself, elbowing Doyoung out of his dance-induced haze for him to see too. 

"Can we go sit in?" Jaehyun asks. "I wanna see Winderella."

" _Winderella_?"

"Yeah, like Winwin and Cinderella."

"Yangyang made it up," Donghyuck confirms, because of course. 

"Ah." Then, Johnny shrugs. "We can try?"

In the end, Jaehyun, Donghyuck _and_ Yuta end up trailing after him to the practice room down the hall. The familiar sound of Bad Alive filters through the hallway, so in order to not interrupt the performance they peek through the glass panels on the door instead, Johnny getting the top right slot while Jaehyun takes the left and Donghyuck and Yuta settle on the floor like they're in abad spy movie. 

Donghyuck laughs as soon as he lays eyes on them. They're facing sideways from the door, not head-on, and if Johnny smushes his head into the glass he can just about see the cameras directed at them. Donghyuck's incessant giggles are apparently loud enough to be heard over the music — Kunhang cranes his neck to spot them through the window and flashes them a grin. Then, when he goes to wait by the mirror for his next part and he's finally facing them out of view from the camera, he offers a bashful little wave and flicks his long, yellowed Rapunzel braid off his shoulder. 

Ten comes into view right then, wearing black-and-white striped thigh high socks under his Alice dress. He glances at Kunhang, follows his line of sight to find the four of them squished against the door, then copies his girlish movements. 

Yuta laughs from below. 

Ten is wearing thigh high socks. 

Under his dress.

"What is Yangyang _doing_ ," Donghyuck chortles, his attention on the members currently dancing. Then, "Ah, Sicheng-hyung, so cute," to which Jaehyun laughs, no, _giggles_.

Suffice to say, the WayV members are cute. When Sicheng messaged the group chat about a princess party Johnny hadn't expected _this_ — wasn't expecting them to go all out with wigs and dresses. Granted, Dejun looks like Johnny's halmeoni in fancy dress, Yangyang can barely move in his Ariel costume, and — is Sicheng wearing _jeans_? 

A demolition of his childhood, really. 

Yuta keeps laughing. Johnny briefly looks down at him, then back up to where Ten is moving into centre position. He's gone as quickly as he arrived, travelling to the back of the room where Johnny can barely see him. 

"Yangyang looks... _voluptuous_ ," Yuta comments, and Johnny can positively _hear_ the smirk in his voice. Jaehyun bursts into laughter right as Johnny's eyes land on Yangyang. On Yangyang's padded, wrinkly bra. On Yangyang physically _hopping_ back up on his feet because his mermaid tail doesn't allow for him to move his legs more than an inch. 

Donghyuck almost whacks his head against the door in a fit of laughter. 

"Look at Kun!" somebody — Yuta, probably — calls. 

"The apple—"

"Look at _Lucas_ ," Donghyuck pipes up. 

But Johnny is preoccupied by Ten, who catches his eye and laughs. Just briefly. Then the members part and he's sauntering through the middle of them — in his dress and thigh high socks — with a flourish of hands, before returning to the back of the formation with yet another grin thrown in Johnny's direction.

Johnny laughs at him because it's all he can do. 

"Lucas has _lost_ it," Jaehyun says.

"They're all over the place."

"Yangyang—"

Oh no.

It's Ten's solo part, and Johnny's brain supplies a weak _oh no_ because as soon as Ten sinks to his knees all Johnny can think about is Ten looking through his lashes in those selfies he sent earlier. His brain automatically pieces the two images — him on his knees, him wide-eyed — together before he can even _begin_ to stop himself, and then Ten is spinning on the ground, skirt lifting up to show his boxers or safety shorts or whatever the hell those are, and Johnny simply drowns in the rush of immense guilt and dread he feels thereafter.

Luckily, Ten goes back to the side of the room Johnny can hardly see. Kun becomes centre, then Dejun, then Kunhang. Both sides of the door are laughing. 

But then Ten is back, and he's twirling again, and Johnny just about bangs his head against the wall before catching sight of Yangyang backwards-hopping and spluttering out an unattractive laugh that momentarily takes his mind off of Ten and his stupid dress and his stupid socks. 

The music dwindles to a halt, Donghyuck's hand on the door handle ready to barge in. He does so as soon as the members depart from their final positions, yelling something across the room that Lucas gawks at embarrassedly. 

Still, the four of them have to wait by the door while they film their ending fairy spots. Ten is up first; Johnny wolf-whistles and sends imaginary daggers into Ten's calves, because darn him and his toned legs. Ten winks. Johnny takes back his daggers and plunges then into his own skull. 

Finally, after the cameras finish rolling, Ten ambles towards to an unusually-nervous Johnny.

"What's your name, then?"

Ten stares at him blankly.

"There's Winderella, and you're...?"

" _Oh_." He pauses to think. "Maybe... Tenalice?" 

"Okay, _Tenalice_. Aren't you a pretty princess?" he teases. 

Ten smirks. "Pretty? Do you like the dress?"

His knees dip in a little curtsy, long nails pinched around the hem of his dress to hold it up. Without really thinking about it, Johnny catches the hem when Ten stands back up, rubbing the blue fabric of the dress and the white fabric of the underskirt together between his thumb and forefinger. 

"Yeah, I do." He lets the fabric drop, eyes darting to the other members. "And the socks," he tacks on. 

Ten's eyes glimmer as he smirks up at him. He's angled similarly to his selfies, practically looking through his lashes. His under-eyes glisten with glitter when he blinks and Johnny's blood runs cold. 

"And the bow?"

Johnny has to blink a few times to take in what he's saying. "The bow?"

"Mhmm, do you like it?" 

The way he loops a section of his wig around his finger and twirls it is very clearly an act, the intention of which to make Johnny uncomfortable. And it's working, it is — but not in the way it should be. 

_Oh no_ , Johnny's brain repeats. 

There's a lump in his throat that he dislodges with an unsubtle cough. "It's—I do. It's pretty." 

"Thank you," Ten whispers. He rotates his head, probably seeking out the others, but Johnny doesn't follow his line of sight. Instead, he traces the slope of Ten's nose, thinks about how well he manages to pull off the Alice in Wonderland costume with his strikingly dainty features. 

Johnny almost misses it. He's in a daze, you see. But then Ten is walking past him, body close enough that is brushes against Johnny's hip, and the words he'd just spoken hang lightly in the air. 

" _Follow me_."

So he does. He quickly glances at the others; Jaehyun, Yuta and Sicheng are talking by the mirrors, the others are sprawled on the floor. None of them seem to pay Johnny any mind as he trails after Ten, right out the door. 

Not a single word is said. Ten walks ahead, Johnny stays behind. His heart is practically crammed in his mouth and that innate sense of dread from earlier has returned to haunt him. 

Dread — or hope. Something fickle, something easily breakable, something that lines his spine with hallucinogens. 

Ten rattles a door handle. It opens. He slips inside, and like the little rat charmed by the Pied Piper that he is, Johnny follows. 

They're in a changing room. Well, what _should_ be a changing room but is now barely a collection point for lost and spare clothing alike. There are benches around the perimeters of the room, with one sticking out into the middle like a catwalk to form an M shape, and above those benches lie racks speckled with hangers.

A small, obsolete changing room. 

And, stood right in front of Johnny, Ten.

Ten, whose veiny right hand is wrapped around his left elbow, playing with the skin there almost nervously, bottom lip tucked between his teeth. 

It's wordless, really — their motive. 

Johnny knows with almost certainty why Ten lured him here, and Ten must know why Johnny followed. He can feel the heat radiating from the two of them in waves, and the more he thinks about the reality of the situation the more his legs threaten to buckle under his weight.

But still, he asks, "What's going on?" 

"I thought... maybe..."

Maybe what? Maybe Johnny could throw away his inhibitions and frolic with his best friend in an obscure changing room at their _work_? 

Oh man. 

Ten is gonna be the death of him someday.

But not today! No. Johnny acts before he can think himself into a trap — he steps forward until Ten's white sneakers press against the tips of his own, until he feels the fabric of Ten's dress flutter against his sweatpants, until his lips are a single breath away from Ten's, warm air mingling together.

And then he sinks. 

The first press of their lips is awkward despite Johnny's attempt to be cool and suave; Ten's elbow juts into Johnny's ribs and there's an awkward stretch of accidental eye contact that makes him want to perish on the spot, but then Ten's arms unwind to wrap around Johnny's neck, his chin tilted upwards as he drags them into another, _better_ kiss. 

And, really, it's like plunging into ferociously cold water. The hairs on his arms stir, his blood simmers, and that delightful shock of both heat and ice travels straight to his pelvis.

Abruptly, Johnny manoeuvres Ten by the waist so that his back is flat against the door. 

When he looks down, all he can see is Ten's eyelashes and the flushed tips of his cheekbones. He presses his crotch to Ten's experimentally — in a way, it's to confirm to the two of them that this is an actual thing that is actually happening — and relishes in the way Ten keens into the door, lashes fluttering upwards in order to make eye contact before focusing on a random spot on Johnny's face out of bashfulness. 

Johnny gives Ten's hip a light squeeze before placing both his hands on the door either side his face, stepping back so there's room for Ten to duck under his arms and run if he wants to, an act which also conveniently puts them at eye-level. 

"You sure about all this?" Johnny asks as softly as he can muster. 

"Are you?" 

Johnny removes one of his arms from the wall in order to rub at his eye. To give him an extra few second to placate his thoughts, his feelings. 

Honestly, no. He isn't sure. He isn't sure this is a boundary they should push, whether either of them _want_ to or not. 

He wants to, in this moment, but he worries that his future self — the responsible him that usually doesn't let his dick control his actions — will berate him for it. 

"You're hesitating."

"No, no." _Gah_. Johnny rubs at his eye again, this time dragging his hand through his hair and pulling at the strands just enough to get him to snap out of his own fucking head. "We'll have to be quiet."

"Yeah?" Ten smirks up at him, and it's infuriating. Entirely fucking infuriating. "I knew you'd give in someday~" 

Saying nothing, Johnny barrels back into him. Places his hands back on his hips, this time gripping hard enough to roll Ten around so he's facing the door. His body grazes across Johnny's front as he does and he about loses it then and there. 

See, Johnny and Ten have always been on the precipice of _something_ , but never _anything_.

It was never a matter of him not giving into Ten. He did so readily, oftentimes against his own will. It was merely a matter of him giving into _himself_. 

And, as Johnny's hands roam across Ten's outer thighs and delve under his dress, he acknowledges that this feels a lot like something.

Dresses are hella accessible, by the way. The layers of thin fabric easily make way for Johnny's hands. Ten's skin is _hot_ , soft to the touch, and a little moist with perspiration. Johnny's own hands are clammy with that lingering hopeful dread, so they glide easily over the indentations of his ribcage and across his chest. He brushes across Ten's nipples, which causes him to shiver ever so slightly. He splays his fingers across the side of his chest, right in the nook of his armpits, and brings his thumb and forefinger together to softly pinch his nipples in a way he likes to do to himself. 

"This okay?"

"Yeah—yeah, keep going." 

The top of Ten's head is pressed against the door, eyes facing the floor, and Johnny is sad he can't see his expression when he rolls his nipples between his fingers just the slightest bit harsher and Ten makes a little noise in the back of his throat. 

His hands are up against the door too, fingertips white from where they're pressed into the wood. A thin bracelet hangs around his sharp wrist bone. The blue of his veins and his arm tattoo contrast against his flushed skin so prettily, a second tattoo peeking under his sleeve. 

Johnny dips down to mouth at the nape of his neck. He tastes of — well, _skin_ , and faintly of sweat, but it's sweeter than it is tangy and it's just the tiniest bit addictive, especially when Johnny feels a full-body shiver against his tongue as he licks a stripe down the back of Ten's neck. 

His dick feels it too. He's fully hard, as was inevitable. He presses the front of his sweatpants into the back of Ten's dress, dragging one of his arms to loop around Ten's hips in order to fold his body and connect the two, Ten's hands slipping lower and lower down the door as he does. The friction is decent, but Johnny wants more. _Needs_ more in order to satiate himself.

If it was up to him—

Suddenly, a mobile pings — Johnny almost jumps out of his skin, pushing away from Ten like he'd been burnt. The fear he feels in that moment is fucking monumental; the unfamiliar mobile notification, the prospect of an unwarranted distraction, the idea of being _caught_ in such a compromising position. 

"Fuck," Ten mutters. He lifts himself up in a panic and grabs his phone from the nearest bench. As he scans the notification, his shoulders roll back. 

"It's Kun. We'll have to be quick before somebody finds us."

"Finds us?"

Johnny thinks of 127, who're probably still practising down the hall. He prays Yuta, Jaehyun and Donghyuck haven't returned yet so his absence doesn't look _too_ suspicious. 

"Like, staff. The members are leaving for lunch." He bites his lip, and just like that Johnny's fear subsides, overtaken by a need to console. "Shall I tell them we'll join them soon? Fake a quick bathroom break or something?" 

"That's fine." Then he tacks on a, "I just wanna suck you off," because he decidedly _does_ and the way Ten's eyes glisten up at him is too alluring to resist. 

Ten types back a message, turns his phone on silent and drops it to the bench rather harshly. 

"You wanna suck me off?"

Johnny hums low in his throat. Fuck it. "Will ten minutes be enough?"

"More than enough." Ten smiles wickedly. 

"Okay." 

_Okay_ , he repeats in his head. 

He looks around the room, at the racks of clothing, then halts.

"Wait—aren't they gonna come in here to change?" 

To Johnny's relief, Ten immediately shakes his head. 

"They changed in the practice room... I don't think anybody really comes in here."

 _Okay_ , he repeats to himself once more like a good luck charm.

His eyes linger on the bench that juts through the middle of the room; it's big enough for Ten to lay on, albeit uncomfortably. He walks towards it and pushes the hangers to the far ends of the racks to make space, then beckons Ten over with a wave of his fingers.

"On here?" Ten questions, nose scrunched. 

"Yeah." His eyes trace the slope of Ten's nose, the two moles around his eye, the ribbon in his hair, the length of the wig trailing down his back. As Ten begins to step forward, they trail along the stitching of his dress, all the way to the hemline that just barely touches the striped socks he's wearing, then snap back up. "Wait."

Ten looks over his shoulder tentatively, eyebrows smoothly raised. Johnny steps forward and stands against Ten's side, pelvis against hip, chest against shoulder. All the while, Ten continues looking over at his shoulder at him, face gradually morphing from concern to anticipation. 

Johnny's gaze flickers to the blue ribbon secured under the bunching of his wig, his hands following. They momentarily pause to tuck the extra wisps of Ten's fake fringe behind his ear so they don't cover up his cheekbones, then lower until they reach underside of his ponytail where the ribbon is tied in a loose knot. It unravels with ease and the blue silk falls gently across his fingers. 

He removes it entirely, and as the silk lies in his palm his mind flashes with every possible function it could serve. He could gag him with it, end those usual sarcastic retorts of his with a single piece of fabric between his lips, but Johnny _needs_ to hear Ten's moans. Is that weird? Is it weird that he's imagined them before? Probably. 

Instead of gagging him, he settles the length of the ribbon around Ten's neck. Only lightly, to test the waters. Ten gives into it immediately, craning his head back pliantly. The ribbon slips above his Adam's apple as Johnny tightens it. Ten's eyes flutter shut on instinct and his lips part and mutate into a smirk that Johnny swears was carved out by the devil himself. 

Yeah, Johnny is gonna die. This is it. 

His boner — a notable presence — positively _flinches_ when Ten's eyelids fall open seconds later and his eyes stare directly into Johnny's soul with all the intensity of a bull seeing red. 

Johnny, too, relates to a bull seeing red. 

With all the courage he can muster, he lets the ribbon fall from Ten's neck and uses it to cover those piercing eyes of his. He does so, naturally, under the pretence of being sexy and mysterious — but realistically he can't stomach the thought of Ten _looking_ at him like _that_ while Johnny has his dick in his mouth. He isn't cut out for that, for the scrutiny. 

Not yet, at least. 

Johnny leans forward and takes the lobe of Ten's ear between his teeth, gold hoop earrings and all. Ten writhes under him, hand coming up to grip Johnny's tee as the latter suckles on his ear and lowers a hand to Ten's crotch. There's a decent swell beneath the fabric of the dress that Johnny's hands easily engulf, groping loosely as he mauls at Ten's ear. 

He pulls off, kisses down his neck and across his nape, then up to his other ear, body skimming Ten's with each footstep. He repeats the same thing with his right ear — suckles on his earlobe, kisses and licks up his ear, pinches at his helix with his teeth. He wishes Ten had his usual plethora of earrings in, wonders what it would be like to wrap his tongue around each and every one them. But one will do. Ten seems to like the way Johnny flicks his tongue across the holes regardless.

This time, as he suckles, his hand slips to Ten's ass. He gives it a gentle squeeze, then gradually slips both his hand and his tongue lower and lower until his fingers drift across the bottom of Ten's boxers and his tongue dips into his collarbones. 

Cautious of their limited time and the sheer amount of _ease_ it would take to walk in on them right now, Johnny soon straightens up, let's his hand slide firmly over Ten's barely-clothed ass and whispers, "Lay down pretty boy." 

The words are foreign on his tongue — a little stupid, even _cringy_ , he realises once they hit the air — but Ten's immediate call to action leaves him breathless; he walks over to the bench and lays on it without even a hint of humour on his face and Johnny's lips twitch. 

He probably likes that. Likes being called pretty, likes being told what to do (and ignoring said instructions). If Ten is anything, it's a brat. 

And, god, was _that_ why he made Johnny take that stupid BDSM test with him? To test their compatibility? To give Johnny some sort of _insight_? Because, fuck, it worked. Johnny didn't stop thinking about it for weeks. 

His eyes rake over Ten. He fits on the bench with room to spare; his feet dangle about a foot away from the edge of the bench, legs straightened out and pressed together, hands clasped against his stomach. 

It reminds Johnny of one of those catholic statues, for some reason. 

God, what would Mark have to say about this? 

Why is Johnny thinking about _Mark_?

He pushes his hair away from his forehead — it's sweaty and he probably looks like a hot mess — and saunters over to Ten before he can tease him about hesitating again. 

Okay, he's nervous. 

"...Can I just... go for it?" he asks. 

"Don't be scared, it's just me."

Ten's hands reach down to straighten his skirt and, yeah, Johnny needs to just go for it because his dick is so hard it almost hurts.

"What names do you liked to be called? Like, uh, dirty talk?" 

"That's up to you. I just like it when you talk, I think your voice is sexy." 

Johnny perches on the edge of the bench, brain on the precipice of melting. For the sake of his sanity, he's going to pretend Ten didn't just say that.

"Alice?" 

Ten laughs.

"Pretty boy?" he asks again with a smile. He prods at Ten's kneecap, who gets the idea and shifts his leg until it falls off the side of the bench, then the other. 

Ten hums his confirmation.

"... _Good_ boy?"

Ten's legs spread ever so slightly and all Johnny can do is stare at those thigh high socks and the way they stretch over his legs. 

His fingers graze them before impatiently dipping under his dress. Johnny feels like he should savour this, but they're running out of time. His hand roams across the fabric of Ten's boxers and over the bulge of his crotch, giving it a gentle squeeze before dragging his hands further under the dress. Ten's stomach jumps beneath the tips of his fingers and his dainty little hands grip harder onto the sides of the bench. 

"Good, pretty boy," Johnny murmurs with a gentle flick to Ten's nipple that causes his head to roll back into the bench. 

His hands eventually find their way back to Ten's socks. 

"These socks look pretty on you."

"I know." 

The first black stripe, thicker than the rest, lays just beyond the jut of his kneecaps, expanding soundly around the width of his thighs. He has such good, sturdy dancer thighs. 

Johnny wants to eat them. 

He slides off the bench and nestles between it and Ten's left leg, lifting the hemline of the skirt above the waistband of his boxers before pushing up the bottom of them so his thighs aren't hidden. Johnny softly bites down on the meat of his inner thigh. It's supple, tender. He laves the area with his tongue, licking and sucking across the span of it like a zombie starved of flesh. 

Meanwhile, his right hand grips at Ten's calf and his left inches across Ten's other thigh. It feels good when Ten's body responds for him, whether that be a subtle flinch of his leg or a sharper intake of breath. It makes Johnny suckle at his thigh all the more fervently until pinks and purples bloom beneath the surface of his skin and his legs struggle to stop jolting, to stop _clenching_ beneath him — and, hell, Johnny is rock hard. 

Ten's legs are so muscular yet so _soft_ , and they're adorned in these pretty little socks that he wants to tear apart with his bare hands, and that in itself is a really strange thought — he rips his mouth away from Ten's thighs and just... shoves his head into Ten's groin without thinking.

At this point, he's beyond reproach and approximately fifteen seconds away from coming.

He nuzzles his nose into Ten's hard cock, hot breath fanning from his open mouth, and if he inhales through his nose a little deeper because he's intoxicated by Ten's slightly musky scent then that's between him and any supernatural beings that may be watching him do so. 

" _Please_ ," Ten whispers from above. 

Opening his mouth the slightest bit wider, Johnny flattens his tongue across the fabric of Ten's boxers and licks a stripe all the way up. He feels the way Ten's legs tense against his shoulder, so he does it again, and again, until Ten is breathing more erratically and Johnny has to pull away lest he ruins the fun before it can even begin. 

The dress gets pushed higher up over Ten's stomach in order for Johnny to slip his fingers under the waistband of Ten's boxers and slide them down; his cock rises, hard and leaking, painted a darker shade of red than his thighs and speckled in coarse, dark hair.

Johnny has seen Ten naked before, they've showered together — but never like _this_. 

Never as Ten — clad in a blue dress and _thigh high fucking socks_ — lays with his mouth agape, blue ribbon obscuring his vision, his lithe fingers and pretty nails gripping the edges of the wooden bench he's laid sweatily against, skin flushed and muscles twitching beneath the surface. His cheeks are stark crimson. His fingertips are white. His blonde wig is spread messily across the wood, and _hell_ if he isn’t beautiful. 

Johnny splays his fingers across Ten's hips — there's a distinct little mole under where his little finger lay — and marvels at how big they look wrapped around them. At how big they look in comparison to Ten's dick. 

Johnny always quite liked that Ten was smaller than him — the two of them are like a big, domestic dog and a scrappy, feral little kitten — but now the _many_ inclinations of that dance behind his eyelids. 

Ten trusts him, that much is certain. 

It comforts Johnny. The idea of taking care of Ten... it comforts him a lot.

Johnny sighs. His breath his hot, Ten's skin is hotter, and Johnny feels like he's burning from the inside out. 

"I've never done this before." 

Ten shifts, suddenly trailing his fingers through Johnny's hair, and Johnny finds that he likes the slight buzz of pleasure that jolts down his spine when Ten's fingernails scratch at his scalp. "That's okay, me too."

"It can't be too hard, right? I have my own dick, should be easy-peasy."

Ten chuckles, and his smile is still just as pretty from all the way down here. 

Johnny's got this.

He's very good at fitting all manner of phallic foods in his mouth. It's something of a hidden talent of his. That, paired with the sexual misdemeanours he'd had wrought upon _himself_ — yeah, he's got this, he knows exactly what to look out for.

He raises fully to his knees, the side of the bench jutting into his ribs as he leans in. Without boxers getting in the way, Johnny's tongue glides easily over Ten's cock, eyes squinting at the slight bitter taste. He brings up a hand to keep the dick in place and curls his tongue in a way that gives him more precision in his licking. Ten's leg locks him against the bench and out of the corner of Johnny's eye he sees Ten's arms move; a quick glance up shows that they're splayed above his head, his chest rising in shallow increments as he fidgets below Johnny's tongue. 

All it takes, really, is a lot of premeditated licking. Johnny tries to apply everything he knows, cautious not to target too much attention towards the head because Ten seems more sensitive there than most, though he certainly marvels in the way Ten attempts to thrust up into the air when Johnny swirls his tongue around the tip for longer than necessary and a ribbon of precum pools around Johnny's tongue at his efforts. 

It's not a nice taste, he'll say that, but he laps it all up anyway like the good dog he is. Ten moans audibly, a high, crisp sound that just barely filters through Johnny's numb, sex-addled ears. As expected, it's pretty. Every part of him is pretty. 

Alas — Johnny's tongue aches. His dick has spent far too long untouched he thinks it might fall off. There are probably indentations in his ribs from this stupid fucking bench. And people will start to wonder, soon, where they are.

So Johnny just goes for it. 

He, as inexperienced and horny as he is, takes Ten's dick all the way to the back of his throat. He inhales as much of him as he can, hands gripping Ten's thighs tightly to steady him, fingers digging into the flesh. He gags almost immediately, pulling away until all that connects them is a string of saliva. He clears his throat, watching the way Ten's cock bobs in the air, shiny and flushed and so, so desperate. He steadies himself, tries to focus on controlling his breathing, _in out in out_ , then delves right back in. 

He savours how warm and full his mouth feels, how his throat contracts around the obstruction — it's euphoric, in a way.

" _Jo—Johnny—_ "

Driven by Ten's moans that vibrate beneath his tongue, Johnny locks his head in place, _despite_ the immense need for him to pull away and retch. His mouth quickly fills with saliva and precum. His eyes water and when he closes them he feels tears dribble down his cheeks. Lines of spit similarly dribble from the corners of his mouth. The hair at the base of Ten's groin tickles his nose as Ten tries and fails hopelessly to calm his subconscious little thrusts into the back of Johnny's throat, and that short stretch of suffocation makes Johnny's dick physically twitch in his pants. 

It's all he can do to drag his hand from Ten's thigh to dip under the waistband of his sweatpants and palm himself over his boxers before he succumbs to humping the fucking bench. He's never been this hard in his _life_. 

It hurts.

He feels sick. 

As his throat lurches, he wonders whether vomiting on cock is possible. It surely is, right? But as he palms himself with next-level desperation he decides he doesn't really care. His head may as well be a separate entity, floating far away from his body. His own hands on his own cock are all that matter at this very moment — and Ten's pleasure, in the grand scheme of things. 

Eventually, Ten stops trying to still his hips and succumbs to the warmth of Johnny's mouth. Johnny chances a peek up at him, and although his vision is blurry with tears and horny desperation he can _just_ about make out Ten's body shuddering against the bench, hands hooked above his head. Those less-than-stifled moans of his strike Johnny right where it hurts — right in his groin. 

All it takes is one harsh jab against Johnny's uvula and he's blacking out completely. 

He's too numb to even panic as he goes limp, life being sucked outta every crevice of his body. He trembles breathlessly as he cums in his pants, wave after wave of pleasure rippling through him as he kneels there defencelessly. 

It isn't until Ten shoots down his throat that he regains any semblance of consciousness — it chokes him enough to downright shock him into pulling away, and when he does his throat constricts around all the fluids and he gags so hard he's scared he's going to vomit right there, all over Ten. He ends up having a coughing fit instead, and it isn't pretty; cum streams out of his nose much like tears stream down his face — all his orifices burn, his throat feels raw and he immediately regrets jumping ten hurdles at once. 

Post-nut clarity is one hell of a bitch. 

And, god, his mouth tastes like ass. 

The warm mixture of saliva and cum dribbles down Ten's cock, who, at some point, had pulled the ribbon off and is now blinking through the artificial light down at Johnny. 

Johnny lets his head go lax against Ten's thigh, doesn't care that his cheek is laying in a pool of his own slobber. 

His mouth aches so bad.

"You okay?" Ten calls, still breathless himself. 

And, _fuck_ , Johnny didn't properly get to watch him cum.

He drinks in the sight of him now, torso raised on his elbows, red-cheeked and glowing, shitty wig in disarray and flimsy dress skewed above his hips with his cock laying spent beneath it, remnants of cum and spit and tears leaking into the indentations where his hips meet his thighs and dripping down his balls and even Johnny's own chin.

 _Fuck_.

Johnny weakly brings a hand up to where his jaw hinges and massages it like it's going to magically ease the pain — there's a ribbon of cum on his cheek that he doesn't remember the origin of. Ten is looking at him with something akin to awe on his face, and when his hands find their way back into Johnny's hair he nuzzles into the touch, desperate for some sort of comfort. He feels like he's melting, body dead-weight and every single muscle ache — particularly those from dance practice twenty minutes ago — amplified. 

"Hey, are you okay?" Ten repeats.

Johnny looks up at him through tear-stricken lashes. God, yeah, he's okay. There's this slight buzzing in his eardrums and he's more paranoid than he's ever been that somebody's about to burst through the door — but on every level above physical, he's okay. 

He clears his throat. It feels like an itch. 

"You're so pretty." He brings a hand to his throat, surprised at strained his voice sounds. "Came in my pants."

Ten laughs, though not unkindly — more so _mischievously_ , like he's happy at the fact. Knowing him, he's probably gloating at the fact that he rendered Johnny boneless.

It's illicit. 

His cock is softening before Johnny's very eyes. Johnny's hands fumble to cover it with the dress, then he drags his head off Ten's lap and lets his legs collapse onto the floor. 

For a while, they both sit there in relative silence, save for a few shallow pants as their breathing levels.

Ten sits up first, throwing his legs off the side of the bench and splaying his skirt neatly across his legs. Johnny jabs the shoelaces of his sneakers as they come to rest in front of his legs and Ten smiles down at him in response.

"That was... good. Like, best ever."

"Oh? You've had similar experiences to compare it to?" Johnny jokes.

"Wouldn't you like to know." 

Ten smiles stupidly and Johnny laughs back.

He doesn't feel remorse in the way he'd always expected to. Their relationship hasn't been blasted to smithereens, or whatever — if anything, Johnny thinks he understands things a little bit better, sees things a little bit clearer. 

He gazes upon Ten intently, detailing his pretty features as though for the first time. His eyebrows are still cocked in Johnny's direction, the tiniest hint of smugness playing on his lips. Dainty fingers fidget in his lap despite his facade of unwavering confidence.

Johnny sort of wants to kiss him again.

"I didn't think you had it in you." 

Johnny's eyebrows furrow, knowing he couldn't possibly have said that last thought out loud. 

"Hm?"

Ten grins. "Nothing." And then he's standing up and digging his fingers under the crumpled boxers wrapped around his thighs. 

If ever there was a time Ten could make him feel small, it was now, as he sits level with Ten's stripy kneecaps. _And_ his bruised thighs. Guess he won't be wearing anymore skirts for a while. 

With a pause, Ten asks, "Do you have a change of clothes?"

Gah. Johnny thinks of his soiled boxers and grimaces at the prospect of sitting through lunch after having creamed his pants. "No."

Another pause, and then Ten is sliding his boxers down his legs instead of pulling them up. He fumbles to get his shoe through one of the holes, then throws them at Johnny.

"I need to go and get my bag, it has my clothes in it. You stay here and change into these."

Johnny mock salutes. Ten smiles lopsidedly, slipping out the door. It's then that Johnny realises he's braving the hallways without any underwear on beneath that little dress of his — and, boy, if Johnny's dick doesn't chime back up. He didn't even fix his wig. 

In the onslaught of silence, Johnny berates himself for being a piece of shit. When he finally manages to get a grip, he shakily gets to his feet and pulls down his sweatpants and underwear in order to slip Ten's boxers on, though not before using the soiled pair to clean up his dried cum.

Ten's boxers are a fraction tighter than his own, and there's a little wet spot somewhere in the front, but Johnny finds the entire ordeal more sexy than probably normal. He's going to sit for lunch with the other members wearing these and he isn't _once_ going to stop thinking about it. He's doomed. 

Eventually, the door handle rattles — at first, Johnny's heartbeat shoots up about fifty beats per minute thinking it's a stylist, but it's only Ten and he's clad in his regular workout gear with his wig and costume shoved messily into his daisy bag. He's still pretty. His eyes immediately slip to where Johnny is fisting his bunched up boxers. 

"It isn't fair that I didn't get to see any of the action." 

"Maybe next time," Johnny drawls.

" _Oh_ _really_? Next time?"

"Do you have deodorant?"

Ten's eyes glisten as he brings a palm up to Johnny's burning cheeks. "Are you blushing?" 

"Not funny, Ten."

Ten quirks an eyebrow. "I prefer _pretty boy_."

Johnny drags a hand over his face and tries desperately to seek redemption. 

_Sorry, god, for my sins._

"Good to know I have an effect on you, though." 

_Please forgive me._

"Always," Johnny replies sincerely.

_Or, like, don't._

Ten cheekily pats his head. "Good boy," he purrs.

 _Fuck_.

Abruptly laughing, Ten thrusts his bag towards Johnny. "Deodorant is in there. Put your underwear in there too. And I want mine back, because Yangyang keeps stealing them and I'm running low."

"Yangyang steals your _underwear_?"

"He steals _everyone’s_ underwear. He's a little thief."

Johnny stuffs his boxers into the bag and does a final sweep of the room. He notices Ten's blue ribbon clinging onto the bench for dear life and says, "You should get your bow."

But Ten shrugs. "Consider it a gift for lost and found. To mark the occasion." And then he's grabbing his phone and typing out a message before shoving that into his bag, too. "Don't come out for at least two minutes," he warns, before leaving for good.

So Johnny doesn't.

And as he sits there for those two minutes, flattening his hair and spraying his armpits, his brain repeats _good boy, good boy, good boy_ over and over until Johnny swears he's transcended into limbo.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry for my inability to finish anything, I hope you liked this nonetheless. comments are, indeed, always appreciated. farewell for now!


End file.
